Long Road Home
by DoraMouse
Summary: Semi-dark contemplative fic exploring the pokemon world from a pokemons POV. One Shot. Complete.


_Long Road Home_

by DoraMouse

**Disclaimer:** I own this story but not the official series. Tada.

* * *

"HEY YOU!"

That would be the sound of my trainer, once again chasing down a prospective opponent. He's not a bad kid. He just... Seems incapable of issuing a challenge without resorting to insults and making gestures that upset people... I think that perhaps my trainer is a little bit insecure. Or maybe overconfident. Either way - he tends to talk a lot tougher than he actually is. Not that I'm complaining. I've done the same thing myself once or twice. The difference is that when I anger someone, I don't send anyone else out to fight in my place.

The interior of a pokeball is a rather cramped place to be. It's also very plain. Nothing much to look at. As I sit here, with my arms wrapped around my knees, I listen. And wait. And hope.

Please don't let him choose me. Not right now. Not today. I'm on the verge of falling asleep as it is. That's the reason I'm in this pokeball. Usually I walk with my trainer but today I'm too tired. I couldn't walk fast enough to keep up with him.

Maybe it's my fault. I am a Machop, after all. A fighting type. I'm supposed to enjoy this. I'm supposed to keep up with my trainers demands. If I'm so tired... Maybe I'm doing something wrong. Maybe I'm not worthy of...

The pokeball glows, inside and out. I feel the light crawling over me, warm but painful. I'm not used to this yet, the whole pokeball deal. Yes, that's right. The pokeball. It amazes me that humans have such technology. At the same time, it terrifies me. Just the fact that a person can change my physical size with this thing - making me small enough to carry around in their pocket - let's face it, that's creepy. Plus the technology seems so common and the humans are so utterly willing to take it for granted. I doubt that my trainer has ever paused to consider how a pokeball works.

I, on the other hand, am not able to ignore the process. In truth, I've come to dread it. Pokeballs can't be healthy! All this shrinking and growing at accelerated rates - it's not natural!

Being returned to my regular size tends to make me nauseous. So I spend a few precious seconds just standing still. Waiting for the dizziness to fade, waiting for my vision to clear. Trying not to be sick. I remember the first time I was ever released from a pokeball. Vividly. I threw up shortly after materializing. Needless to say, my trainer was not impressed. Neither was my opponent.

Speaking of which...

Oh no. A water type.

"Gawd, what an ugly pokemon!" Says the human girl that my trainer must have been insulting earlier. The Marill at her feet nods in agreement. The girl smirks. "Teach 'em a lesson, Puddle! Hit it with a Water Pulse!"

Wonderful. I'm going to have my tail handed to me by a pokemon with a name as corny as Puddle. Just wonderful.

My trainer scoffs and makes a face at the girl. "You're the ugly one!" He laughs then turns his attention to me. "Machop! It's just a stupid girl! Seismic To-"

But before he can finish his instructions, the girl has made a snide comeback. The two humans are soon so busy trading vicious insults that they ignore us pokemon.

"Hey, listen!" I advance cautiously towards the confused Marill and proceed to say something that he probably never expected to hear from a Machop. "We don't have to fight."

My trainer - he's not a bad kid. I mean, I would save his life if he was ever endangered. Definitely. But... For arguments like this... What does fighting accomplish, really? Maybe I'm wrong, to question my trainer this way. Quite honestly though, if there's a goal here then I don't understand it. Am I supposed to know? Am I failing some sort of test? Is this some kind of special training?

The Marill stares at me with an unreadable expression then squeaks. "Don't you even have a name?"

I hesitate, caught off guard. "Uhm..." Instinct kicks in a moment too late. My defensive stance isn't enough to deflect the blast of water. With a yelp, I'm knocked off my feet. I don't particularly feel like getting back up but I know it's expected, so I do my best.

"HA!" The girl has noticed my predicament. "Good work, Puddle! Keep 'em pinned!"

Another blast of water - but this time I'm prepared. Thanks to a combination of adrenaline and fear, I've got a fresh burst of energy. So I manage to sidestep the second blast, careful to keep my balance. Not an easy trick. The water attacks have made the ground slippery with mud.

Hrm. Mud. That gives me an idea.

My trainer is shouting commands. Apparently, he wants to me to get closer to the Marill and pummel it with kicks and punches. But I'm soaking wet and the mud is right here. Within easy reach. It wouldn't take much time or effort to just pick up a handful and sling it at the Marill. While a hit wouldn't cause much harm, a mudball in the face might lower the Marills accuracy. My mind is racing. What should I do? Follow orders or trust my intuition? I know what will work - the Marill isn't expecting a mud attack. The Marill is expecting me to do exactly as my trainer tells me to. My trainer...

By now, there are spectators. This is a busy route and several humans have paused to watch the battle. Making my trainer look bad in front of all these people... No. I couldn't. The thought of failing here is unbearable. And it's not just my trainers reputation either. I have to defend the reputation of my species. For all I know, these other people might have never seen a Machop before. So if they were to see me disobeying my trainer then they might assume that all Machops are disobedient. I would be a disgrace to my species.

I feel guilty for even hesitating. Wanting to prove my loyalty and worth, I take the first steps forward. Intending to follow my trainers orders.

For every step forward, a blast of water knocks me back at least three steps. Part of me just wants to scream but that urge passes quickly. Resignation sets in. I have to do this. I have to do what my trainer wants me to do. That way, everyone will know that I did my best. That I did what I was supposed to. And then... If the worst happens... Then nobody could say it was my fault.

The mud is now ankle-deep, which slows my progress considerably. My trainer is still shouting commands but I can hardly hear him, there's so much noise. The spectators are cheering and placing bets. The girl is laughing.

Abruptly the world blinks in and out of focus. The water, oddly enough, is helping to keep me alert. So cold. It's a bright sunny day - how can the water be so cold? More than anything else, that is what keeping me moving now. I want to get away from this. Get dry. Get warm.

A high pitched squeak. The humans only hear it as 'maaaRRRriilll!' but I can understand the threat. My opponent is bored. Puddle has decided to change tactics. All I can do is brace myself.

The first hit stings. The good news is that the Marill slammed into me hard enough to knock me out of the mud. The bad news is that the attack doesn't hurt. True, fighting type attacks don't hurt me as much as water attacks. But I shouldn't be completely immune to pain. Not after a slam like that. Not with the condition I'm in.

What condition am I in now, anyway?

Worried, I flex my fingers. The movement is slow and out of focus but my hands seem to be intact. I take a deep breath, feeling giddy and sore, and try to stand up. And promptly fall flat on my face. My legs refuse to support my weight. I can't even feel my toes...

"Just stay down." The Marill advises in a tone of blended disgust and sympathy.

Twitching with guilt, I stay down. I don't have the energy to retaliate.

"How lame!" The girl taunts. "Your stupid pokemon didn't even land a single attack!"

"Stupid?" My trainer is now in defensive mode. He can't stand to lose. He'll say anything in an attempt to save face. "You're the one who had to resort to cheating! I ought to..."

"Cheating?" The girls voice becomes shrill with anger. Her Marill scowls up at my trainer. "I most certainly did not cheat! And I have witnesses!"

The voices seem distant now, muffled. The world is spinning, full of dark shadows and blurred patches of color. The ground has become comfortable.

I close my eyes. Too tired to care. But I know that I didn't instantly fall asleep. Because I remember hearing my trainer say that he couldn't believe that he'd lost to a girl. I remember it clearly because the remark made me want to get up. Made me want to kick my trainer and remind him that he hadn't fought the battle, I had. And I didn't even fight the girl, I fought her POKEMON. Her smug Marill with the corny name.

And I remember the remark, vividly, because of what my trainer said afterwards. Right before I slipped into the dark oblivion known as unconsciousness.

* * *

Blur. That's what I see now. Just a gray blur. I'm awake but dizzy and under some sort of glass dome. Why am I under a glass dome? I don't know. But the sky - is that the sky? - is dark and so the only thing of interest that I can see is the blur.

After a few long moments, I recognize the blur as my own reflection.

Yes, that's what it is. I'm fairly certain now. Almost positive. Because it's a humanoid-ish gray blur, with two arms and two legs and a short bent tail. And... What's that? I close one eye and squint, trying to make the image clearer. There's something on my neck. A gentle pressure, a band of blue. And there are three thick green bands on each of my arms and legs. And there's a whole bunch of little white lines all over me.

An old memory stirs. Once, back when I was wild, I saw a very sick Geodude. Like Machops, healthy Geodudes will have a tough stone skin but this Geodude... His skin was covered in white flecks. And after that... The images flicker across my mind, increasing my horror. It wasn't a good way to die.

I shudder. What if that has happened to me? What if these white lines mean that my skin has gone soft? How long do I have left? Panicked, I try to sit up. And fail. But my efforts aren't completely unrewarded. Something snaps.

Oh.

My attempt to sit up broke one of the green bands. Restraints...? Yes. The blue band and the green bands are all restraints, holding me down. Why...? Guess someone doesn't want me to move. But I can move, now. A little, anyway. One hand. And that's enough. Because I don't have to move my hand far to touch a white line. And as soon as I touch it, I realize that it's not a fatal skin disease. This white line... It's a wire or a piece of string or something like that.

How did I get here? Who put this string on me? How long have I been laying here? Why am I under a glass dome? Am I safe here?

I don't know. But now that the fear has passed, I feel drained. Too tired to seek the answers. I let my eyes slide closed.

* * *

A week. I can't believe that I've been here for an entire week. Well. No. I guess I CAN believe it. I just don't WANT to.

Don't get me wrong, I have nothing against these places the humans call PokeCenters. There are certainly far worse places to be when you regain consciousness. At least in a PokeCenter it's quiet and clean and comfortable. Probably very comfortable, for anyone who isn't tied down.

I sigh, which makes my chest ache, and study the new restraints. Are the humans here afraid of me? Or are they just trying to keep me from accidentally hurting myself? Whatever the reason, I've been secured. Again. No more glass dome or white lines. No more neck restraint, I'm grateful for that. But the green bands have been replaced with stronger orange ones. While not painful, the restraints are uncomfortable and they don't exactly improve my confidence in the PokeCenter staff. These people must think of me as either dangerous or a klutz. And my life is in their hands? No, not a good thought.

At least I'm able to stay awake now. That's an improvement, I guess.

I'm not the only pokemon in this room. There are other patients here as well. Since I can't sit up at the moment, I can't see them. But I can hear them. So I know that some of the other patients are also awake.

There are three nurses in the room. Two of them are human. I hear the humans whispering to each other - Why are they whispering? Do they think we're deaf? - as they make their rounds. Glancing at clipboards. Checking temperatures and heart rates. They speak more loudly when addressing a patient, always bright and cheerful. Always trying to convince the pokemon that everything will be all right.

But it's not really working. Because they're human. These nurses don't understand a single thing we say.

"Where am I? What am I doing here? Why can't I get up?" Panics an injured pokemon across the room but all that the human nurses can hear is 'aattttaaa!'

Fortunately, there is a third nurse. A Chansey. A tall pink blob with short arms, flat feet, two black dots for eyes and an egg pouch centered on the front of its stomach. Unfortunately, this particular Chansey also wears a perpetual frown. Which the humans fail to notice.

"What are YOU looking at? You think I wanted to be a nurse?" The Chansey growls. "Now either you can shut up or..."

Such creative threats. I'm in no condition to fight but I can't stand to hear the bully. It's ridiculous! This is hospital! The pokemon are here to be healed and cared for, not insulted.

"Hey!" I rasp, "That was uncalled for. You think we WANT to be here?"

The human nurses hear this as a cry of pain. One of them comes over to check my pulse and temperature and tell me that everything will be okay. I ignore her words, not able to believe them.

"Well. If it isn't the dumpster defender." The Chansey snorts, entering my line of sight. Watching me for a reaction. "What are you gonna do? Challenge me to a battle?" A bitter laugh. "Don't you know where you are?"

I do know. I've already heard the speech. But Chansey repeats it, with an eerie gleam in his dark eyes. Yes. HIS dark eyes. Most Chansey are female, I think I heard that once. Maybe that's why this one is so grumpy, he probably gets mistaken for a female all the time by humans.

"If you're in this room then you don't have a trainer anymore. Without a trainer, you can't battle. Get used to it." Chansey is pacing the room now, speaking to all of the patients and enjoying our collective discomfort. "As soon as you weaklings can step out of bed, the humans will put you to work. All of you - you're going to spend the rest of your miserable insignificant lives stocking shelves and sweeping floors!"

Before Chansey can continue, the human nurses interrupt. I'm sure that they don't know what Chansey was saying. The human nurses stand in the doorway, smiling and holding the door open. Chansey grumbles a few curses and threats at us but follows the nurses out. The door swings shut. A lock - why is this room locked? - clicks into place. Silence returns.

For about five minutes.

"Dumspter defender?" A quiet voice to my left wonders.

I close my eyes and choose not to answer. I don't want to believe that I was found in a dumpster near here. Because no one has told me directly. The PokeCenter staff - the human doctors and nurses - they just tell me not to worry and that everything will be okay. If I hadn't overheard the humans earlier, when they were speaking to each other about me, then I wouldn't have known at all. Maybe that would have been better.

* * *

Embarrassment. Sadness. Anger. Denial.

I lay here and listen and learn and lose count of the days. The humans make their rounds and the Chansey makes his insults and I begin to feel as if this is all I've ever known.

The patients in this room... We don't get visitors or mail or news of the outside world. There isn't even a window in this room. So gradually... Even though we know that the rest of the world is still out there... We just sort of start to forget what the outside world is like. But we can't forget completely, of course. For the pokemon in this room - one thing stands out, one thing refuses to be forgotten.

The trainer.

"I don't know why she did it..." Murmurs a pokemon that's somewhere to my right.

A second voice, a sorrowful hiss. "Did she know it was illegal?"

"I don't know." Replies the first voice, frustrated and on the verge of tears. "I really don't know. I think maybe she did know it was illegal. But I didn't. If I had known..."

Arrested. A lot of the pokemon that are in this room are here because their trainers have been arrested.

"Oh yea, well at least your human didn't..." growls a bitter pokemon.

Rejection. That seems to be the other main reason pokemon end up in this room. A trainer gets bored with a pokemon. A trainer doesn't like the way a pokemon looks after it has evolved. A human decides that being a trainer is too much hard work. So the pokemon get left at a police station or a PokeCenter or a PokeMart, often without any explanation from the trainer.

"- just plain inconsiderate!" An upset pokemon blurts out.

And then there are the lost. Sometimes a trainer and a pokemon get separated. While it can happen to any pokemon, the young and the old pokemon are the most heavily effected. Especially if the trainer owns a bike or a skateboard or anything else with wheels. So the pokemon accidentally gets left behind. And the pokemon - if they're lucky - survives long enough to make it to a PokeCenter. But sometimes, the trainer doesn't come back for them.

"Not all humans are bad." Another pokemon insists in a whimper. "My trainer..."

Death is one of the other things that can separate a pokemon from their trainer. A pokemon outliving their human is really not all that extraordinary since humans can die from so many different things. Still. Most humans who live long enough to become 'old' either sell their pokemon or give their pokemon away. Any human who, for whatever reason, expects death tends to prepare for it. So the pokemon who outlive their trainers and end up at PokeCenters, uncertain of what will become of them... These pokemon had trainers who died suddenly.

Trainers...

My trainer.

The conversations in the room seem to fade as my attention turns inward.

I wonder if the boy is dead. No, I don't wish that he was dead. I just wonder. He isn't here, so I don't know. The boy... I still can't think of him as evil. He was just very ambitious, really, and impatient too. Always in a rush. I can't imagine him waiting more than a day for anything. So if it's true, if I really was found in a dumpster... Then he's gone. He dumped me and left. If I've been in this place for more than a week then yes, definitely. He's gone. Long gone.

Gone to where? Maybe I could find the boy and...

I blink. Mentally hesitate. Why would I even want to look for the kid?

Loyalty. Damn. It's still there. I can't deny that. I do want to find the boy again. He was my first trainer and I feel like I've let him down. The guilt, the shame. I want to do better. I want a second chance. I want to prove my worth. I want to be there at his side when he finally becomes a decent, mature and well-respected trainer. I know he can become a Master Trainer. He just has to grow up a bit first and that takes time.

Hrm. Time. I've been here for at least a week. How far could the boy go in a week? How long should I spend looking for him? How soon can I get away from this PokeCenter?

The fragmented memories of my recent past choose this moment to return. I tense. Why is it that when someone is gone, you tend to forget all their bad qualities? No, the boy wasn't evil. He just yelled a lot and took credit for any battles I won and...

But what can I do? I'm a Machop. A fighting type. Even if I don't always enjoy battles... Even though my last battle was an awful one... Deep down, I can't stand the idea of never being able to fight again. I don't want to spend the rest of my life stocking shelves or sweeping floors or carrying boxes around. And I need to have a trainer, to battle. Don't I?

* * *

Don't know how long I've been here, at this PokeCenter. But when you do nothing but think all day... Enlightment is inevitable.

I've reached a conclusion.

Funny how simple it is. Sad how long it took me to reach such an obvious conclusion. Anyway. It's like this - I used to be a wild pokemon. Fighting was a daily affair back then, just part of survival. No trainer required.

Now the choice is clear, the decision easier.

Humans would say that I've been abandoned. I see it in a different light now. The boy did me a favor. When he left me in that dumpster, he released me. Set me free. So maybe I can be wild again. Human rules wouldn't apply to me anymore if I was wild. Then I could fight, if needed. And loyalty? Yes. I could still be loyal - to my species and to my clan and to my home. Home! There's a wonderful thought. Maybe I should go home. Yes. That sounds like a plan.

I feel better already.


End file.
